


kaleidoscopic

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, John Winchester Is Confused, Light Angst, Unexplained Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 11:30:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11462679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The tall man looked at him with haunted eyes, eyes that swirled from green to brown to blue, and said in a low voice, "You have no idea of the things out there, John."And from the very look in those eyes, those oh-so-familiar eyes, John believed him.





	kaleidoscopic

**Author's Note:**

> So this randomly came into my head.....  
> I regret nothing.
> 
> Sam is from the year in which Dean was a demon. IDEK GUYS OKAY I JUST REALLY WANTED SOME TIME TRAVEL
> 
> Also: I put "light angst" in the tags because we're viewing it from John's perspective. If I were to do it from Sam's perspective, then I would've had the tag "ANGST WITH NO END" because we all know how the Winchester brothers suffer in silence. :)

It was 2 AM when John Winchester set foot in a hunters' bar, body slightly dusted from the light rain outside. Amidst the low chatter and laughter over stories of hunts-gone-wrong, he made his way to the counter and took a seat. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as the bartender came up to him. 

"What'll it be?"

"Something heavy, and make it a double."

The alcohol burned as it made its way down his throat, but it was a good burn, after the exhausting hunt he'd just had. He probably shouldn't be drinking, but it was 5 o'clock somewhere, right? He didn't notice when a large stranger walked in, but he noticed when he took a seat next to him. This guy was a hunter, that much could be seen just from a first glance. Too much flannel, shifty eyes, old jeans, and the aura of alertness about him. Although, his brown hair was long. Longer than he'd ever seen a hunter have (excluding the females, of course, but even some of them liked to keep it short) as it got in the way and was a nuisance to deal with. Although he could've been an everyday, passerby hunter, something in John's mind whispered to watch out for him, that he was not all he seemed.

That was what got him to change his order from a double to a light.

The man was hunched over, as if to make himself smaller than he was. His long hair hung in front of his face, barring most of his face and eyes from view as he stared into his drink. Something about him screamed exhaustion, and not the type that John was currently feeling, the kind after a long, grueling hunt. No, this was the exhaustion that he'd seen in his old military friends, the kind you saw in veterans when they came back from being POW or tired of living in fear of their memories, combined with the stress of hunts, and something else that John couldn't judge from a look. 

And that, on some level, scared him.

John Winchester was a smart man. Sometimes (mostly when it came to parenting, he noted, because he wasn't Mary) he didn't know what to do in certain situations, but figuring someone out by looking at them? That was an old skill, one he picked up when he first began hunting, in case someone nearby wasn't all they seemed to be. It was to protect his boys, who couldn't do that, who were currently sleeping in the first cheap hotel room that he could find in this city. And if he couldn't figure something out? That set his nerves on end like nothing did. 

Then- "Do I have something on me, or are you just admiring my fashion taste?" And a small quirk of the lips as eyes met him, a drink being lifted to the lips in an easygoing manner, and all traces of exhaustion gone from his overgrown frame, as if a slate had been wiped clean.

"Not often people meet hunters with hair as long as yours." John replied, an effort to ease the shock that the man could put up a mask that fast. 

The hunter chuckled quietly, giving a small grin that made him look shy. "Does that make me one-of-a-kind?"

"Seems like it." John finished off his drink and offered a wan smile.

"So...what's a hunter like John Winchester doing in a bar at..." The stranger looked up at a clock that hung on the far wall. "2:10 in the morning?" At John's look of surprise, the man raised his eyebrows. "You're more well-known than you think. I'd be dumb not to recognize you." He thought there was more meaning behind the words, but the man gave no indication of anything further. Maybe John was just reading too much into this?

Remembering the defeated look about him earlier, he doubted it.

"Long hunt. I'd tell you my name, but seems like you already know it. So, what's yours?"

Now _that_ got a reaction, and minute as it was, it set off alarms in John's head. The man's eyes gave a flicker of surprise, like he hadn't been expecting that question and wasn't sure of the answer. After a moment or two, he answered.

"...Sam. My name is Sam."

 "Pretty common name." He said off-handly.

"Yeah, I suppose. Same name, different person, right?" 

That confused John. "What?"

"It's a- never mind." The man- Sam -looked sheepish, and _damn_ if that didn't make him look all the younger. And then the mask slammed back down and he looked indifferent.

John briefly wondered what had happened to him that made him like this. He didn't look much younger than himself, and John wasn't this good at hiding every emotion.

"You had a long day?" He decided to change the subject, still scoping Sam out. 

"More like a very long 3 months." Sam laughed dryly, signaling to the bartender for a refill. John had long abandoned his drink.

"Hunting?"

"Looking for someone, actually. And hunting. Bit of both."

John wasn't sure why he was so interested in this Sam character. Maybe it was because he couldn't put a finger on him, or because he reminded John of himself, a bit, or perhaps it was the intensity of his eyes.

The man's hazel eyes were so familiar, and something told John that he should know who he was, but he just couldn't place it.

"What've you been hunting?"

"Demons, mostly." 

That stopped John right in his tracks. Demons were a rare occurence, barely seen on the earth except for the occasional fool who wanted to make a deal with one, and the other small few that liked to cause mayhem. John had only tangled with one before, and it left him with a broken leg, rib and a new fear.

"Demons?" He choked out. That had to be the reason Sam was so wore down. Demons were far and few in between, and terrible to face.

Sam frowned before realization of some sort dawned on his face, like he suddenly realized that demons weren't just your everyday hunt, and he looked sheepish again before giving a small half-shrug.

"They aren't the worst things out there."

And that concluded John's analysis: Sam the hunter was _insane_.

" _Not the worst things_ \- Listen, kid, I've only tangled with them once, and I'd much rather face down an army of wendigos. Don't say things that you don't mean."

But then, as John noticed, something changed. Sam's eyes glazed over, almost as if he was reliving something, and the previous look of exhaustion had returned full-forced, almost as if someone forced the weight of the world upon him. Memories that John couldn't see swam across the multicolored orbs.

When the tall man looked at him with haunted eyes, eyes that swirled from green to brown to blue, and said in a low voice, "You have no idea of the things out there, John." from the very look in those eyes, those oh-so-familiar eyes, John believed him.

Because he knew where those eyes belonged, and that was not on this broken shell of a hunter with long hair and a giant frame that took up the whole doorway as he left, money on the table, a slight inclination of the head to John as he did so.

It was on the small face of Sammy Winchester, the boy who's hazel eyes - _those eyes, only younger, the eyes of the man_ \- opened blearily up at him as he shut the door of the sleazy hotel, Dean next to him, snoring softly. The boy who could barely aim with a gun in his hand. The boy who used to cry because they moved around so much and he didn't get to stay with friends he'd made. The boy who still asked if he could pet every dog he saw on the sidewalk.

"Dad? What's going o-" A yawn. "Where'd you go?"

"Nowhere, Sammy. Go back to sleep." He normally didn't say Sammy, as was evident in the younger's eyes- _they're the same eyes, swirling with the different colors_ -widening, but he couldn't bring himself to say Sam.

"'Kay." And he was out.

And John- John sat on his bed and stared, stared at everything and nothing, because _that couldn't be possible_.

 

They left the next morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please, please tell me how it was? i'd absolutely appreciate feedback!!!!!!


End file.
